Little Known Truths
by Estrella00
Summary: Trish Nicole Mance was named for two strong women she's never met, but when but when her parents' past comes back to haunt her, it might just shake up Trish's whole world. R&R! I'm willing to listen to ideas if you have them! rated T just to be safe.
1. Two Strong Women

_My Name _

_By: Trish Nicole Mance_

"_My mom says I was named after two very strong women. She didn't tell me more than that."_

I looked over the sloppy, first grade writing, which had been stuffed into the portfolio marked Trish-Grade 1 in Dad's writing. The paper didn't seem too significant, but then again, this folder was compiled by the man who spent the first five years of my life with a video camera in hand. I smiled, slipping the paper gently back into the folder, reaching for another—

"Trish!" I jumped, startled by my mom's voice, home early from work.

"Mom!"

"Wanna come downstairs?" A command wrapped in a question.

"Sure." I shoved the papers down into the portfolio and left my corner of sunlight, unfolding the collapsible stairs, which landed with an audible THUNK!

"Trish?" My mom asked as I rounded the corner into the kitchen, "Were you in the attic again?'

"No." I answered simply, reaching for an M&M from the glass bowl kept on the island. She turned around, dark hair—same shade as mine—swishing and black eyes piercing.

"Well, when I say no I mean—"

"Doll," she used my pet name, coined by my dad for my doll-like appearance as a child, "I'm glad you like to remember the past, but could you do it _downstairs_?" She wrapped me in a hug, "Its just dusty and disgusting and if you get sick, _I'm _the one home taking care of you." She sighed, but the hug kept going, longer, longer, this was weird.

"Mom, the pot's boiling over." She let go and ran over to the stove,

"Shit." She muttered, before extending an index finger at me, a smile playing across her lips, "You didn't hear that."

I played along, "What? I didn't hear anything." Our laughs were interrupted by the phone playing _Pop Goes The Weasel _over and over…

"One day I'll figure out how to change that tone!" I checked the caller ID, CORDER, SAMUEL. I picked up immediately,

"Hey Lynn!"

Lynn had been my best friend since fourth grade, when we both found we harbored a secret passion for the true crime genre.

"Hola Trish! What's up?"

"The sky. You?"

"Just found our next book club book." The "book club" consisted of the two of us.

"Dish."

"Ok, It's in that Prolific Killer series, its called _Harper's Island, A Massacre_. Its about this island like, sixteen years ago, where this guy went berserk and killed practically an entire wedding party." The back door knob turned, my dad was home.

"Sounds cool. Meet at the hill after dinner?"

"Will do." I docked the phone before turning to my father, giving him a big hug. He works for himself, his own construction business, Shane & Co. which keeps him away most hours during the week.

"Hey Doll."

"Hey Dad."

Then he moved over to the stove to greet my mom. How do I know my parents love each other? Well its all in the way they greet each other, they entwine fingers, he touches her cheek, she kisses him. They seem to be truly grateful to have their marriage, like they almost lost each other or something. Whatever.

"After dinner can I go to Lynn's?"

"As long as you're back at a decent time, we've gotta get going tomorrow." My dad smiles, every summer of my fifteen years at least twice we go on a fishing trip and bring back the catches for dinner. Well, we bring back my _dad's_ catches, I let mine go.

As usual on nights when I meet Lynn, I scarfed down dinner before heading to the pantry for a mini-pack of Oreos.

"Can I go now?"

Dad sat back in his chair,

"Hmm."

"C'mon Dad!"

"Hmm."

"Ugh!"

"What do you think Mrs. Mance?" he turned to Mom, who was smiling.

"Go ahead." She waved me away. I ran out the back door, barely hearing Dad yell about being home at a decent time. I headed up to The Hill, Lynn and my special place. No one knew we came here; it was peaceful reprieve from the real world. She was already sitting in the haze of the setting sun reading out of a thick hardcover book, her slightly pudgy figure curved like a harp.

"Hey there." I slumped down next to her against the tree trunk, depositing the Oreos between us.

"Hey." She replied, engrossed in the book.

"Is that the new book club book?" She snapped back to reality,

"Yeah, it is, read a bit." She opened the Oreos.

I looked at the front cover first, a wedding photo spattered with blood. Then perused the front flap, _over twenty bodies, more than twenty murder weapons, Less than fifteen survivors, how two men masterminded the Harper's Island Massacre. _

"You know what the crazy part is?" Lynn garbled with a mouth full of Oreo, "Your parents are in it."

"What?" I asked, pretty confused.

"Look," she dusted the Oreo crumbs on her jeans and leafed through the pages before landing on page 794, _Abby Mills and Jimmy Mance, the lucky survivors of Harper's Island, tend to avoid the massacres, preferring to settle down in an undisclosed location and move on._

"That doesn't mean anything." I sneered.

"Really, because according to page 580 your dad was a suspect." Lynn shoved the book in my face. _Fellow refugees vilified Jimmy Mance, who had been a suspect in the murder of a Tacoma man a few years before, in the last days of Harper's Island. _

This was crazy, my dad was a big teddy bear, incapable of hurting anything (besides fish, but we won't go into that…).

"The book even hints your mom had relations," She spat the word, "with her _half-brother._"

"No she didn't! My parents would have told me about all this, they trust me…"

"Are you sure? They like to keep you away from that attic."

I threw the book at Lynn's face,

"SHUT UP!" and I ran, all the way home alone in the dark, anger pulsing through every part of my body. I slammed through the screen door, flung myself up the stairs and yanked on the cord to the attic. The stairs came crashing down and I threw myself up them, flicking on the light switch and locating the corner where my parents' old stuff lay.

"Trish," I could hear Mom's voice in my head, "Some people prefer to leave the past alone, ask you father and me before you go through our stuff." Every time I asked, the answer was no.

I ripped open the box with fervor, pulling out an old scrapbook, filled with pictures, a smiling girl with icy blue eyes and a skinny physique, four college boys laughing, a blond man and woman wrapped in an embrace, and news articles, _OVER TWENTY DEAD IN HARPER'S ISLAND MASSACRE, PROMINENT LONDON DOCTOR MURDERED, WELLINGTON FAMILY TRADGEDY…_ they went on and on, the more I read the more I cried, I didn't even feel Mom's hands on my shoulders, or hear Dad whisper,

"Abby, we have some explaining to do."


	2. Shane & Co

_I was seven._

"_Daddy? Why is your company called Shane & Co?" Dad looked down at me from the computer he worked on relentlessly. _

"_After an old friend." He went back to work, but I was not satisfied. _

"_Which old friend?" Now he turned to me and took off his glasses used to see small print,_

"_Shane Pierce. Why don't I tell you more after I'm done working." My face lit up,_

"_Ok!" He never did._

Anyone looking through the kitchen window would've been confused. The Mance house was always dark at midnight, but tonight the kitchen was alight and all three of us were shuffling around in bathrobes and blankets. I stared at the wood table, still trying to take in everything. Mom set a mug of tea in front of me, holding two others, for her and Dad, who came down the stairs carrying the box with the scrapbooks. He positioned the first one in front of me, a cracked spine, unmarked but for a small lighthouse sticker positioned in the bottom right corner. They both sat down.

"We're sorry." Dad's voice was hard and soft at the same time, "We shouldn't have lied, and it wasn't fair." Mom nodded,

"We're willing to tell you everything if you want to hear it," Her eyes were glassy, "But you're not to judge us, or anyone else."

"I promise." And my dad opened the book. The first page held a crinkled and faded news article along with a picture of two people I knew, but couldn't place.

"To understand what happened to us, you need to know what happened before. I bet you don't recognize these people, do you?" Mom pointed to the people in the picture and I shook my head, "They're your grandma and grandpa, doll." I looked closer; they were smiling, getting old, but not quite there yet. Her hand was wrapped around his, and his sheriff's badge gleamed.

"John Wakefield, that was the murderer's name. When your father and I were in high school he caused a boat explosion in the marina and hung six people including my mother from a tree. He would have killed me too, but your father scared him off." They flipped past the other pages with the old articles,

"But—" I moved to stop her.

"You can always go back and look later, no more secrets." She kept flipping. Finally she stopped on a page full of pictures. My parents, young, with friends I never knew they had.

"This," she pointed to a picture of her high school self standing back to back with a blonde girl, smiling cheesily, "Is Nikki. Her real name was Nicole, but she said that was too tame for her."

"Did she…" I was scared to ask the question.

"Yes, trying to save our friends from Wakefield." There was silence as my dad pointed to a picture of his own, a young guy at sea, making a mock "get-that-camera-away-from-me" face.

"You asked me who Shane Pierce was. He was my best friend; we were fishermen together six days a week for seven years. He died to save a lot of people…" This was the closest I had ever seen my father to tears, before he took a big swig of tea to swallow them. Farther down the page was a glossy photo of a wedding party in front of a fancy hotel. Each person was labeled and my parents had only a sentence of two for each of them, growing quieter and quieter as we reached the middle.

"This was the bride," Mom pointed to a skinny girl in a tight dress, with curled hair and a model-esque smile, "Patricia Wellington. We all called her—"

"Trish." I finished. Mom bit back tears,

"She was strong, just like you. Every inch of her was radiant." My parents' eyes moved to the last of the party, a dapper young man, his eyes bright and his arms wrapped lovingly around Trish. But they didn't talk, their eyes just bored into the picture. I was so engrossed in every inch of his face, I jumped when a teardrop hit the page, my mom's eyes were flooded.

"Mom?" she didn't answer. That's when Dad crossed the kitchen and took her by the shoulders, wrapping her in an enormous hug.

"I think that's enough for tonight Trish." He supported Mom as she climbed the stairs and left me alone with the elephant in the room.


	3. Harper's Island, A Massacre

_I was five._

_The UPS guy delivered a package on a Saturday morning. My parents opened it to find a thick book and envelope containing a piece of paper they were pretty excited about. _

"_Trish?" Mom bent down to my level, "How would you like to go to Disney World?" I shrieked and hugged her and Dad, not even thinking about how we could never afford grand vacations before. I never questioned where the money came from._

Mom and Dad had long since gone to bed, but I stayed awake, watching the sunrise through the big kitchen windows, the box of my parents' past next to me. I had rummaged through it one last time finding nothing more than a few more photo albums, a deflated soccer ball, and two thick books, one of them _Harper's Island, A Massacre. _I leafed through it, beginning to recognize some of the faces from the pictures my parents had.

"…_Abby and Jimmy Mance prefer to put the past behind them..." _I threw the book aside in frustration, burying my face in my arms. Dad came and sat next to me,

"We planned to tell you. But we kept putting it off; your mother has never been the best at coping with the past. She's scared of you judging her." I stared at him in disbelief.

"Judge her. She thinks I'd _judge_ her?"

"Every kid judges their parents, Trish. And she'd faced judgment for so long, she just wanted to be like everyone else." I was silent and after a while, Dad got up and began to walk away,

"Wait," I called, he turned, "I have one more question. Why was Mom so upset over that guy in the picture?" I opened the scrapbook to the wedding photo, pointing to the man with his arms around my namesake. Dad's jaw tensed,

"He was Wakefield's son. He killed a lot of the people your Mom loved, and he did it all for her." _Thanks for the cryptic clues Dad!_ I thought sarcastically as he made his way back upstairs. But really the sarcasm was hiding how uncomfortable that comment made me. Why would someone conspire with a murderer and kill twenty people for one woman. I glanced over at _Harper's Island, A Massacre_ and picked it up with renewed energy. I flipped to the index, glancing at the photo, Henry was the name written under the mysterious groom. _Henry…Henry…_ I found one Henry, last name Dunn, _and real last name Wakefield._ I shrugged. He was mentioned so often that there were little sub-categories to help you find exactly what you wanted to know. _Henry and Patricia, Henry and Tacoma Murders, Henry and Wakefield_ to name a few. I scanned down the page, finally finding _Henry and Abby Mills,_ _117-138, 345-349…_ the numbers went on and on. Resolutely, I flipped to the first mention.

"_Abby Mills and Henry Dunn had been friends since Henry spent his first summer on Harper's Island. They kept in close contact throughout the year and developed a close relationship."_

_***_

"_C'mon Henry!" I grabbed his hand in mine; it was all scratched and bumpy from a summer spent running through the woods and on the docks. I barely heard Mr. Dunn call Henry back in his sternest tone, we were laughing too hard. I was going to miss Henry when he was gone, I always did. Sometimes I wondered why he couldn't just live with us, he said he hated it in Tacoma anyway. The air grew cooler and cooler as we got close to the bank behind my house. Henry twirled his soccer ball,_

"_I wish you didn't have to go." I said, trying to fill the silence. His eyes looked sad,_

"_Me too, I love it here." He gazed across the water. I smiled and leaned in close to his ear,_

"_I wish we could stay here forever, just the two of us." The thought filled me with such happiness, no parents to take Henry away, no fishermen to yell at us for being on the docks, no J.D. to protect from Shane, and no Jimmy Mance to tease me for being friends with the summer kids. Henry smiled, he handed me the soccer ball and ran up to his waiting and irritated parents. I couldn't wait to see him next summer._

_***_

I turned over, able to hear Jimmy's breath settle back into a steady pace. Trish knew now, that was already something I could barely deal with. 'No more secrets', what a stupid thing to say. How was I supposed to tell her things that I couldn't even come to terms with myself?


	4. A White Dress and Terrifying Dreams

_I was running through woods, thick and sinisterly green. I had had this dream before; Mom would follow me, calling my name until she finally caught up with me and we returned to the candy village where a unicorn sang Britney Spears music._

"_Trish!" Sure enough, her voice echoed around me. But I took a different turn than normal, Mom's voice grew softer and softer, my own breathing, louder and louder. When I tripped and fell I finally realized what I was wearing, not my normal jeans and sneakers, but a white dress. I kept running,_

"_Trish!" A new voice surfaced, gruff, and unbelievably scary. I ran faster, faster and knocked into someone. I looked up into the chocolaty brown eyes of Henry, the groom from the picture. He smiled, stroking my hair,_

"_Its ok. It'll all be fine…"But I knew he was lying, I saw the glint of the knife, closed my eyes,_

"_Its not fair…"—_

I awoke with a start, covered in a sweat. _No more scary stories before bed. _I thought. Somehow I had been deposited in my bed. _Dad probably hauled me up. _I thought. I changed into some new clothes, old shorts and shirt, while I looked around the room. It was weird how so much could change, and yet, stay the same. I made my way downstairs, the sun had quickly been covered with clouds and a depressing, milky haze sat over the house. I could smell food in the kitchen. My mom, hair pulled into a lazy ponytail, and wearing one of her "tired-and-overworked" outfits, furiously stirred a bowl of bean dip, our favorite.

"Mom, you don't have to cook today," I took the spoon and bowl to the sink, "Let's just put that frozen pizza in the oven." She nodded, and I ushered her over to a kitchen chair before putting the pizza in the oven.

"Where's Dad?"

"He went for a walk. He'll be back soon." I watched her as she nervously eyed the box, and the few contents that had spilled out, the deflated soccer ball, _Harper's Island, A Massacre_, and an upturned photo album.

"I—I'm actually glad he's out. Last night I didn't answer your questions about Henry…"

"Well, actually, I read everything on you two—Did you know you have your own sub-category? —And I'm pretty much an expert on the life of Henry Dunn. But it didn't say much about the actual events. It called them "delicate"." I made finger quotes.

"So…" Mom played with her fingers.

"So I guess I get confused about what happened after the church fire." I took a seat across from her.

***

_It was over, I knew it. Everything was icy cold and the world was fading. But then I woke up. It was eerily quiet, as I sat up in the bed, surveying my surroundings. I wasn't dead, no, that much I knew. I strolled over to the dresser; my clothes were folded neatly, as if it was all planned. I dressed and warily made my way down the stairs. The house seemed deserted, bare shelves, sheet-covered furniture. But Henry was there. Bright smile and carefree attitude, he acted like what he had done was nothing, like I _wanted _him to do it. He said he loved me, said it was all necessary for us to live on the island alone, just like I had told him when we were kids. —_

_***_

"But that's ridiculous, you were children." I stated, incredulous.

"Trish, you have to understand, he was sick, very, very, sick."

"But—"

"I thought we agreed that there would be no judgment." Mom stared at me with teary eyes and I shut my mouth.

***

_I broke a window and escaped, I ran, to where, I wasn't really sure. I could hear Henry right behind me. I threw open a door and ran inside and there was Jimmy, seemingly back from the dead. I grappled with emotions, I was happy—he was alive! I was worried—He was scratched up and tied down! Then Henry dragged me out, explaining that Jimmy was to take the blame, if anything he'd do it knowing I was alive. _

_***_

"It kinda fades after that." Mom didn't meet my gaze.

"You're lying, please tell me." I took her hands, "Its ok, I won't judge you." Mom cracked a small smile, took a deep breath, and continued.

***

_It blurred after that. The next thing I knew, Henry was murmuring something about Jimmy wanting to say goodbye and escorting me to the shed. I kept trying to think of things to say, none of them cementing into my brain longer than a few seconds. But when I saw him there I did the only thing that felt right, I kissed him, before Henry could tear me away. I was angry, my thoughts a million miles behind my actions. I stabbed him with a screwdriver and took off, hoping Jimmy had gotten the nail. Henry found me, he set out his points in a frustrated tone._

"_I DON'T WANT YOU!" I yelled, as Jimmy pushed a bewildered Henry over the cliff, both of them plummeting toward the shore. Jimmy was fine save his ankle bent at a grotesque angle. I felt someone behind me, and in one sweeping motion, not even in control of my body, I swung the boarding knife right into Henry. I looked straight at him as we both realized his imminent mortality. _

"_Abby," He gasped, I grabbed his hand, a hand I had held since childhood, "I love you." And he collapsed, his head bashing against the smooth shore rocks. I realized I had just killed my best friend._

_***_

Mom wiped away her tears, "I never thought I was capable of murder…"

"It wasn't murder Mom, it was self-defense." I kept hold of her hands.

"But it was. And Trish, I still loved him, as a brother, as a friend, even after all he did." I crossed the table and gave her a hug,

"Its ok." I whispered as Dad walked in, one look at the two of us and he must have known what we had just spoken about. He crossed and enveloped us in a hug. We sat there in silence for a while, just savoring what we had. My parents were obviously still hurting, and I would help them, because all we needed were each other, right?


	5. Birthday Cards

_I was nine._

_The cake was already half-eaten, and wrapping paper was strewn across the table. _

"_Oh, Trish!" Mom jumped up from where she was snuggling with Dad, "You still have one more card." I opened it enthusiastically, enchanted by the glimmering foil that spelled "Happy Birthday To A Very Special Girl" on the front. I opened it, five dollars slid out, "From Shea and Madison". _

"_Who are Shea and Madison?" I handed the card to Mom and she smiled,_

"_Just old friends."_

I cleared off the table, depositing the pizza crusts into the trashcan, one last question clawing at my mind,

"Mom, Dad? I have one more question…" They looked up from the Metro & State and Arts sections of the paper respectively, "Who else survived?" Mom sighed, putting her Arts section down while Dad went to get the photo album over in the past box, which was shoved up against the kitchen window.

"A few islanders managed to escape, our doctor, the psychic, a local musician. We've all gone our separate ways, last year I received an obituary for Dr. Campbell." Dad flipped the photo album to a picture of a small family, the father, tall and domineering, the mother, statuesque, yet somehow, weak, and the daughter, small, her eyes betraying the fact she knew more than she let on.

"This is the Allen family, Richard, Shea, and Madison. Shea is Trish's sister."

"Did Richard…?"

***

"_God damn it Tim, I need someone here now! I will not speak without a lawyer present." Tim chattered in my ear a bit more, about expenses, room and board, and the utter lengths to which I was asking him to go. I looked over into the window, where Madison played a game of solitaire. Poor kid, she always played alone. _

"_No, I don't care about the money. With the sheriff up my ass it'll be even harder to get custody. What? Well, of course Shea will fight for custody, full custody is she gets her way." He chattered some more._

"_For the last time Tim, I don't care about the—" The wind was knocked out of me, a dull pain slowly working its way to my legs. I couldn't breathe back in. I looked down, where a shining spike poked through my chest. My eyes darted to Madison, who stared right at me,_

"_Madison." I gasped, _please don't let her see me_, I thought as I was yanked back into the darkness._

***

"We found him a while later, he was pinned to a tree." Mom took a deep breath, as if she was trying to suppress more tears.

"And Shea and Madison?"

***

_He ushered us into the boat, helping Madison adjust her life jacket,_

"_Sully, please come with us." I begged again, tugging on his jacket sleeve._

"_And abandon Henry? I can't do that." _

"_Then I'm staying." I began to step out of the boat._

"_No," He pushed me back in, holding onto my arm, "You need to get your kid off this island." I stared at him, my tired eyes full of tears once again,_

"_Thank you." He gave a glint of a genuine smile, understanding passing between us,_

"_Crank that sucker Shea!" He pushed us off. He watched us until we were out of sight, the kindest thing that had even been done for me._

***

"So they're still alive."

"Yes," Mom traced the photo with her fingers, "They live not to far away, in Chicago. Madison goes to Columbia College and Shea manages part of the Wellington family real estate business. We've exchanged birthday, Christmas cards, the occasional phone call, since you were born." One little fact stuck in my mind, I stood up and paced,

"You said they live close by, right?" I twiddled my thumbs,

"Yes." Mom replied, I took a deep breath,

"I want to meet them."

***

Trish was safely tucked in bed, tired from her first full day of knowing, I supposed. I had sat myself down in a kitchen chair, swishing my glass of red wine, watching it catch the light, and spying on Abby as she made the phone call to Shea. I could tell she was nervous by the skittish way she bounced up and down before finally dialing Shea's number and leaning against the island.

"Hey, Shea? Its Abby." They chitchatted on for a bit before Abby got down to the nitty-gritty,

"Actually Shea, I have a favor to ask. Jimmy and I told Trish—yes. Actually, she's taking it quite well, a bit curious, but nothing unexpected. —Mhmm. I was wondering, she's set on meeting you guys—yeah. Well, I was wondering if we could just pop in and—" I loved watching Abby's facial expressions, they were at times funny, beautiful, sexy, but right now, funny and flustered.

"Shea, we couldn't—I know but—well alright, we'll see you then. Tell Madison 'hello'. Bye!" She hung up, pushing her hair back in a silent sigh of relief. She made her way behind me and wrapped her arms around my neck. It never ceased to amaze me how she was still slender even after childbirth and fifteen years of eating Trish's PB&J crusts.

"Thank God you took the week off," she whispered in my ear, "They said this weekend is fine, and she insisted we stay with them." She kissed my cheek,

"Ah, we'll make it work." I pulled her closer and kissed her again.

***

"Just letting you know Madison." Mom closed the door behind her; I finished shuffling my Tarot deck. Abby and Jimmy's daughter, wow, I was excited to meet her. I imagined her face, a combination of Abby's hair and cheekbones, with Jimmy's eyes and smile, as I turned over the top card of the deck, The Fool, dressed in outlandish clothes full of color. The Fool meant infinite possibilities, I chuckled, indeed there were.


	6. Vacations

_I was twelve._

_We were in the beat-up old sedan we'd driven for as long as I could remember, passing farms and open pasture, cows and semis. I sighed as I finished the last book I had brought along,_

"_How come we never go anywhere exciting for vacation?" Mom looked back at me from the passenger seat,_

"_But you love Chicago!" I slumped down in my seat,_

"_I know, but everyone else goes places like foreign countries, Bahamas, the beach!" Mom and Dad exchanged a look, _

"_You and Dad go to the lake every summer, and you have your whole life to go to the beach, but for now, we're going to Chicago." She ended Chicago tersely, signaling "end of conversation". I looked out the window, guessing I'd just have to count cows until we reached the Windy City._

I threw the last bag in the trunk of our beat-up sedan and hopped in the back seat, depositing _Harper's Island, A Massacre_ as well as the photo albums next to me, I was sure they'd keep me busy on the trip up.

"Now Trish," Mom began a speech as she took her customary place in the passenger seat, "You're sure you want to do this?" Dad started the car engine.

"Yes Mom, I'm sure." I traced the raised lettering on _Harper's Island, A Massacre_. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky; it was a perfect day for a car ride. The car rolled down roads and I read from _HIAM_, my new nickname for the seemingly never-ending title. I skimmed the index searching for any mention of Madison Allen. Her name was practically as notorious as Henry Dunn, as she had earned a few sub-categories herself. I turned to page 643, _When the party finally made it into the Cannery, a local bar, after being targeted by an unseen shooter, tempers quickly flared and opinions conflicted over the next course of action._

_***_

_I pushed the 8 ball across the blue felt table, the steadying "thump thump" sounding like a metronome to the angry adult voices coming from the main room. _Stupid adults_, I thought, _I could help them, but its not like they'd listen to me, I'm just a kid. _Abby came into the room with some warm tea, just like she'd promised,_

"_It'll warm you up" she handed me the pretty little mug,_

"_Why does everyone think I'm cold?" I asked before taking a sip. The question made Abby uncomfortable; instead, she asked me questions about who had been with me in the tunnel. But I couldn't let her know who _really_ had been there, because then Mr. John would hurt Mommy, and I couldn't let that happen. Before I could really come up with a really good lie Mommy started shouting at Abby and then Aunt Trish started in shouting at Mommy. I blocked it all out, as simple as I did when Mommy and Daddy yelled. All I could concentrate on was the footsteps on the roof. Everyone stopped talking so I guess they noticed too. Chloe screeched,_

"_Its him!" and all the guys pointed guns at the ceiling, then the thunk came, and Maggie Krell came crashing down. —_

_***_

I woke with a start, the skyscrapers casting shadows over the car. I could hardly believe myself; I had actually _slept _all the way to Chicago. We drove past the dense part of the city, ending up on a tree-lined street full of old, historical houses. Dad maneuvered into a parking space along the street and we all got out, stretching limbs and yawning. Mom and Dad were still hauling luggage out while I walked to the front door, surveying the house. Medium-sized, painted a light blue, with a small window-seat in the front, where a small dog was snoozing. _Ding…Dong_, I rang the doorbell, the chime high and inviting. The glass plated door opened and a fifty-something woman opened the door. She was thin, hair swept in a severe bun, wearing a dark pencil skirt, and a bright yellow blouse. She let out a little gasp when she saw me, her big blue eyes filling with tears, and then she wrapped me in a large hug.

"Its so nice to meet you…" Nice to meet you too.


	7. Get Well Soon!

_I was nine._

_Mom sighed sadly as she signed the card, before handing it to me,_

"_Will you sign this doll?"_

"_Who's it for?" I asked, looking over the glittery rainbows surrounding 'Get Well Soon!'._

"_Do you remember Mommy's friend who sends you the birthday card every year?"_

"_Mmhmm."_

"_Well, her daughter is very sick, and has to stay is a hospital for sad people. Understand?" I nodded, even though I didn't understand, "So we're sending this card to cheer her up!" I asked no more questions._

The woman who could only be Shea Allen still had her twig-like arms wrapped around me,

"Nice to meet you too…" I kinda patted her on the back, hoping to stem the flood of tears she was producing.

"Shea Allen!" Mom put her suitcase down and threw her arms around her, giving me a chance to break free from Shea's death lock grip,

"Abby Mance!" They laughed like schoolgirls, which was a bit unsettling. Shea wiped the tears from her eyes and gave Dad a friendly embrace,

"Its so nice to see you again Jimmy."

"Same here Shea." It seemed only then that she realized we were all just standing on her porch,

"Silly me, come in, come in! You can just leave your luggage by the door." Her house was elegant, vintage-y wallpaper and floral arrangements on rich, dark wood tables.

"Madison! Come down and say hello." She called up the stairs before leading us into the living room, where a clean-shaven man sat with the little dog on his lap. When he caught Shea's eye he stood up and extended a hand,

"Abby, Jimmy, Trish, this is my husband, Carter."

"A pleasure." He flashed a bright smile, for someone in their fifties anyway. Just then a twenty-something girl barreled through the French doors. She was slight, with sandy blonde hair sheared to just above her shoulders, and bright blue eyes giving nothing away. They grew big when she saw Mom and Dad, and me.

"Abby? Jimmy?" She motioned to the foyer, where the scrapbooks and _HIAM _sat, "I see you brought ghosts." This startled me, just a bit, before I remembered Mom had said Madison sometimes said things that sounded a bit off. She gave them each a hug, before peering behind them, where I stood. Madison stared at me with inquisitive eyes,

"Wow, you even have Trish's bones…" I assumed she spoke of the _dead _Trish

"Madison?" Shea cut short the awkward convo, "Why don't you go show Trish your photographs? She's majoring in photography." She explained to Mom and Dad.

"Come on!" Madison took my hand and led me away, before I could even signal to my parents that I'd prefer to stay put.

I watched Madison and Trish run off. Madison had grown up beautifully, and was pretty independent, from what Shea had said. She paid rent and everything. Shea took a seat on the sizeable couch with her husband, who planted a small kiss on her forehead. I was so glad that Shea had found someone, truly found someone, a painter, no less. _The farthest thing from a slimy real-estate man,_ I thought, before hushing myself, Richard Allen was long dead, and there was no need to bring him up.

"So how have you guys been handling Trish, she must be rather curious, if she wanted to come all the way here to meet _us._" I was taken aback by the question, and glad to have Jimmy's hand wrapped around mine.

"You know, she took it pretty well," I neglected to tell her about Trish's little midnight breakdown, "The hardest part was explaining Henry, and not for her, just for me. Shea, I don't want to drag it all out again. Not when we finally had something going for us." Shea nodded her head,

"I went through the same thing with Carter," she put her hand on his thigh, "But you need to give people some credit Abby, they take what they can handle, otherwise I think someone would be long gone by now." She nuzzled Carter's nose. I quickly changed topics, and as we settled in, it became not a Harper's Island survivor meeting, but just a chat with friends.

Madison had the room farthest left of the stairs, her door was painted a multitude of colors, and pictures had been tacked to it. She led me inside, where it was cozy, a small bed, a vanity in one corner, a bookshelf, and a window that overlooked the backyard. She pulled out a cardboard box from underneath the bed and showed me the pictures,

"So, you like photography?" I scanned one of a graveyard, where among a sea of black umbrellas, one blonde girl wore pink and held a small dog, biting back tears. It was dated as being from sixteen years ago and bore two words, _Lucy's sister._

"Yes," she handed me another picture, this one of a funeral, it showed an elderly woman wiping away tears in front of a closed casket, in short precise writing it stated, _Chloe's Aunt, Funeral, _"People can't hide in photographs," She gave met yet another, this one of her mother on a bus, seemingly staring at a photograph, teary eyed, "You know exactly who they are."

I awoke with a start. All I remembered was dinner, where my parents and Shea relived better days, and then going to sleep. Something was bumping around; I moved to turn on the light, before a hand clapped over my mouth,

"Shh, its just Madison." I relaxed, a little. She removed her hand,

"What are you doing?" I could make her out now, as my eyes adjusted to the dark, she was dressed in black, her camera dangled around her neck, and a backpack slung across her shoulders.

She smiled,

"Going someplace special, wanna tag along?"

"I guess so." I slipped out of bed and donned the closest thing I had to black clothes, a purple shirt and dark jeans, ignoring the trouble I'd get in if caught, as she opened the window.

"Just climb down the trellis, I'll be waiting!" She winked and slipped out of sight. I awkwardly climbed down the trellis, trying not to disturb the flowers growing there; Madison eagerly awaited me at the bottom with her bike.

"Hop on the back." I did, and we were off, I didn't know what hour of the morning it was, but I did know it was _way _past curfew. We passed a few cars, and some slovenly drunken guys who were making their way back to wherever. Finally, we ended up in front of Madrigal Cemetery. Litter was caught in the fence and it didn't seem the best place to hang out, but Madison dismounted the bike and hopped the fence anyway.

"C'mon!" I followed, doing my best not to tread on people's graves. The moon was the only provided light, and that creeped me out even more. I could barely keep up with Madison, although the feeling of being watched spurred me along. Finally, I caught up with her; she stood in front of two graves. I could barely make out what they said. A flash of light practically blinded me, it was Madison lighting a match. In the glow cast by the candles she lit, I made out the names:

HENRY J DUNN

And right next to him:

JOHN C WAKEFIELD

I gasped and backed away.

"Don't be such a scaredy cat!" Madison set the candles on Henry and Wakefield's graves.

"Your Mom wanted to be this close to their graves?" Madison sighed, a little smile playing across her lips,

"She doesn't know. She asked the FBI not to tell her where they were buried." She pulled me close to her,

"Can you hear them? They still talk," Her eyes were manic, and I could feel the panic rising in my chest, "They tell me things, secret things, sometimes they're even about you!" I ripped away from her and ran, she wasn't following me, but her voice carried, intermingling with her crazed laughter,

"Its all about you Trish! Only you can end it!"

All I could feel was my footsteps beating against the ground, and the tears of fear streaming from my eyes. I was surprised I knew the way back to Shea's. Finally, I found myself on the porch, pounding the door, the tears streaming down my face; the ghosts of the past had followed me back.


	8. Happy Birthday Henry

_I was thirteen._

_Mom was at the kitchen island, shedding a few tears over a bowl of cookie batter._

"_What's wrong Mom?" I asked, only a bit disconcerted by my mom's tears._

"_Nothing doll, its just, just a friend's birthday."_

"_Then why are you crying?" I was puzzled,_

"_Because he died a long time ago." My eyes lit with an idea,_

"_We can go to his grave! All my friends go to their grandparents' graves on their birthdays, like this one time Lynn—"_

"_No." Mom put an abrupt end to my chatter, "He—He was cremated." Years later I would think about all the lies she told me._

Finally a warm light enveloped the porch and Shea stood before me, her hands over her mouth, my parents and Carter following close behind.

"Trish!" Mom pushed past Shea to kneel beside me on the porch, "Doll, what's wrong, please, tell me!" I tried to steady my breathing, a bit dizzy from hyperventilating, punctuating my speech with little gasps,

"Madison—graveyard—enry and—akefield—laughing—really scared." Shea shook her head, betraying a small bit of anger, which seemed a foreign emotion on her angelic face,

"God damn it Madison!" She offered an explanation to my parents, "Madison has a thing for graveyards, ever since—you know, at first she said it was a photography thing, and I believed her, but after her incident the shrink said we should keep her away—Oh god, I'm so sorry Trish, I didn't know." She wrapped me in another, more gentle hug, Mom followed. The sound of my waning gasps and approaching crunching gravel were the only sounds. Everyone turned, there stood Madison next to her bike, exuding nonchalance,

"What?"

***

I lay on my makeshift bed in Madison's room, Shea's voice fluttering in from the spare room down the hall,

"What were you thinking?"

"Mom, you know I don't control—"

"Regardless, three in the morning and you think it's a smart idea to take Trish to a _graveyard_? Where _Henry and Wakefield _are buried none the less."

"But—"

"For Christ sake Madison, she just learned about them—about us—and you go off scaring her with candles and graves and your little episodes…" Her voice trailed off, I could hear someone quietly crying as the door shut, _Poor Madison, _I thought, before falling asleep.

***

_The air was cool, and the earth was moist, the fog melting into my skin. I was back at Madrigal Cemetery, back in front of Henry and Wakefield's graves, only, it was day, the overcast sky contrasting with the green of the oak trees. At first, I thought I was alone, but then I felt them next to me. One person on either side, appearing just as they had in Mom and Dad's scrapbook, a perfect blonde girl, Chloe, was it? , And a blonde all-American-boy type, Sully? I wasn't startled by their presence; they seemed calm, pensive, staring down at the graves. _

"_Why are you here?" I asked._

"_Why are you?" Sully asked, never looking at me. I contemplated the question,_

"_I asked first." But before he could answer, Chloe spoke, _

"_I'm still scared." I turned to her,_

"_But he's dead, why are you so scared, he can't get you." Chloe turned to me, her eyes focused and piercing,_

"_How do you know?"_

"_What?" I fumbled. Sully asked with more urgency,_

"_How do _you _know he's dead?" I pointed behind me, as if Mom was there,_

"_My mom, my Dad, they said—"_

"_Your parents minds are addled by counseling, grief, and trauma. They don't know any more than we do." Sully turned to me,_

"_Only you can end it Trish." Chloe pointed to the graves, her eyes round as saucers. I turned back to them; they were dug up, the caskets open—and empty. I felt them behind me, I screamed, but it was too late, Chloe and Sully were gone._

_***_

I awoke again, a scream escaping my lips before I had a chance to pull it back in.

"Trish, what's wrong?" Mom dashed in, sitting on the bed with me.

"Nothing, I—" I had a change of heart, clasping her hand, "Mom, we have to go back."

"Back to where?" She asked, not wanting to consider,

"Back to the graveyard, to them. I need clearance, Dad needs clearance, _you _need clearance." There was silence,

"Please Mom." She looked at me with tear-filled eyes, mouthing,

"I can't."

"Mom, you can. You can't—_We_ _can't_ live like this forever." She wiped the waterfall of tears away, pursing her lips,

"O.K."


	9. Never Leave Me

_I was ten._

_Alone in a corner of the closet, I cried. Mommy was going to leave, but I knew she didn't like to leave without saying goodbye and if she couldn't find me, she couldn't leave. At ten, I thought it was a masterful plan. Hidden behind the old coats and winter gloves, inhaling Daddy's cologne and Mommy's perfume, I felt safe. A crack of light temporarily blinded me,_

"_Doll." Mom crawled next to me and I cried openly,_

"_Please don't leave." Mom's arms were wrapped around me, and she sighed,_

"_I have to go. Mommy's friend really needs her."_

"_Then take me with you!" I sniffled,_

"_You'd be bored to death." She chuckled,_

"_Then promise you'll come back." I whimpered, and she realized how scared I really was. Her hug got tighter,_

"_Trish, I will never leave you."_

Mom left the room and I opened the blinds, startled at the milky gray sky overhead, I had slept a long time. Resolutely I donned my dark jeans from last night, and a black blazer buried at the bottom of my bag, _I should show a little respect, _I thought. I looked at myself in the mirror,

"Its all gonna be o.k." I said to my reflection. Downstairs, my mom was talking to everyone, gathered around the breakfast table, most still in their pajamas. I watched tentatively from the top of the stairs,

"It was Trish's idea."

"She really wants to do this?" Dad sounded incredulous, yet proud of me.

"She said we need closure—" There was a clink of china,

"And she's right." Shea's voice was solemn. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to scream, but was silenced by Madison's eyes, blue and sad,

"Trish, I'm so sorry." I was taken aback by her sudden switch back to civility,

"Its fine, really." I tried to pull away,

"No, its not." She took a deep breath, before launching into a prepared spiel,

***

_I was ten. _

_The funerals were over; the bones were in the ground. Mommy made me pack up all my toys and move, far away. I checked, from Bothell, WA to Chicago, IL is 2,069 miles, that's a long way from Daddy, but Mommy says he won't mind, and we can visit him whenever we want. Our first day in the new house I played in the spare room, stacking unpacked boxes, while Mommy showed the movers where to put stuff. I thought I was alone until I heard footsteps, I whirled around and J.D. was standing there,_

"_J.D!" I smiled, he put his finger to his lips, and I lowered my voice, "You came back!" He came closer,_

"_I promised, didn't I?" I nodded and he smiled, before becoming serious,_

"_Listen, Madison, I have something I need to tell you—" He gasped and turned around, Wakefield was standing in the doorway, his big knife pointed at J.D. I screamed—and they were gone._

_***_

_I was twelve. _

_I sat on my bed, sobbing, my classmates' taunts still running through my head, _

"_Madison's a freak, Madison can hear things!" They pushed me to the ground and dumped my new backpack on the dirt. I only cried harder. I felt a hand stroke my hair,_

"_Sweetie, why do you care what they say?" Auntie Trish's voice floated softly across the room, _

"_Because I _am _different! But I don't want them to know why!"_

"_Madison, look at me," I sat up, face to face with Auntie Trish's beautiful eyes, "You are special, talented, no one can take that away from you." She wiped the tears from my eyes,_

"_Thank you Auntie Trish!" I wrapped my arms around her,_

"_Madison? Who are you talking to?" My mom entered my room, and I realized my arms were wrapped around thin air. _

_***_

_I was thirteen._

_I awoke with a start Daddy was shaking me,_

"_Madison, you have to help me." Suddenly another person shook my leg it was Katherine,_

"_Madison, I need your help." And they kept coming, Beth grabbed for my arm, Danny for part of my comforter, I was overwhelmed, they all moaned and begged,_

"_LEAVE ME ALONE!" I screeched, and they all scattered as lights turned on,_

"_Madison, what's wrong." Mom cradled me in her arms,_

"_They were here, they need help, Mom, we need to help them…" I broke into sobs, she held me until I fell asleep. The next day she took me to Dr. Moranda._

_***_

_I was eighteen._

_While everyone else was getting ready for college and losing their virginity, I was a resident of Hartgrove Hospital's Inpatient Neuropsychology program. Dr. Moranda said I was doing so well, making progress, but he didn't know Henry came at night, taunted me, told me how much he enjoyed killing Daddy, J.D., Trish. I cried and cried, he told me there was only one way I could end it,_

"_And you _have_ to end it at some point Madison." I never thought I'd be the type to commit suicide, but running those knives over my skin felt so right, and Henry nodded his head in approval until I passed out. I woke up at Hartgrove, beating the walls, angry because it wasn't over, and because Henry sat in the comfy chair, shaking his head sadly._

_***_

_I was twenty._

_Fully cured, they said. My scars were almost gone and I could start college next year. Dr. Moranda sent me home with Mom and a bottle of pills to take when I felt the visions coming on, I hated those pills, they made me sleepy and disoriented. He also gave Mom something when I wasn't looking, but I knew what it was, a pack of sedative syringes, if I had any more violent episodes._

_***_

_I was twenty-one. _

_In the middle of the night Chloe entered my room, tapping my on the shoulder,_

"_Psst, Madison." I stared at her blearily, "Guess what I found?" She opened the window and began to climb out, "Follow me!" I did, running after the flitting glimmer of her blonde hair in the night, she stopped in front of Madrigal Cemetery, _

"_Chloe! Dr. Moranda said I wasn't allowed to come here anymore!" _

"_But guess what I found!" She hopped the fence and sighing I followed, _One time can't hurt, _I reasoned with myself. Through the maze of tombstones I found her, pointing, I came close to the graves:_

_HENRY J DUNN _

_JOHN C WAKEFIELD_

_I screamed._

_***_

_I was twenty-five._

_It killed me to keep stuff from Mom, she hated secrets, but I couldn't let her know. My rendezvous' at the graveyard were a way to exhale. I could be myself there. She wouldn't understand. She thought I was doing just fine at college, at life, she was so wrong. My niche escaped me everywhere but with Henry and Wakefield, they told me things, kept my other visions at bay. And that was all I wanted._

_***_

Madison's tears poured down her cheeks, she stood there, and I realized I pitied her. I mean, she had just poured out her whole life story to me, a virtual stranger. Hesitantly, I gave her a hug, and she returned it whole-heartedly.

"Your mom doesn't understand you, does she?" I stated, and Madison jumped to her defense,

"No, she just gets frustrated sometimes." I contemplated arguing but decided not to,

"Are you ready to go downstairs?" She wiped away her tears and nodded, taking my hand.


	10. Unspoken Words

_I was fifteen._

_I was frustrated, angry as I threw HIAM across the room. Dad came and sat next to me, _

"_We planned to tell you. But we kept putting it off; your mother has never been the best at coping with the past…" I didn't know then how true that was._

The car jostled along, and I swayed along with the movement, trying to keep myself from tensing. The path to Madrigal Cemetery was less mysterious during the day, and easier to find when you were following Shea's car. I concentrated on breathing, picked at my fingernails, not letting the energy of repressed emotions get to me. Mom's hand shook on her thigh and Dad took it in his own. They never looked at each other, he just knew, it was something I'd never understand. We had just pulled up when Mom burst into the first of many sobs to come.

***

Mom sat with me in the back of the car while Carter drove. She must have known how upset I was, because she never did that. She stroked my hair like she did when I was little, the only way to calm me down those first few nights off the island,

"You know we don't have to do this Madison." She spoke unconvincingly,

"Yes we do Mom. I think you know that too." I looked behind us, wondering if Abby and Jimmy were as scared as I was. I didn't like being scared, I didn't like admitting I was scared, but the sad fact was, this was the only thing that scared me. I didn't want Henry and Wakefield to be there waiting for us, to descend upon Trish like they did upon me. She was young and naïve, but sweet and open-minded. She had accepted me like no one else—alive that is—had. We stopped and Mom helped me out. I fumbled a bit and she caught me. I could feel them, they were there, but a flick of movement caught my eye, J.D. and Trish hidden behind one of Madrigal's great oak trees, J.D. with a finger to his lips and Trish with her signature warm smile. They were here to cheer me on. I stood up straighter, shrugging Mom's arm off my shoulder. I could do this.

***

_I shoved the last of my memorabilia into the box, satisfied to hear the metal top clank shut. Before I opened it one more time, inhaling the scent of grass and spicy cologne._

"_Abby, you're sure you don't want to go." I jumped at the sound of the voice. Jimmy leaned against the doorframe, cuts still bandaged and limping on his fractured leg, "This might be a good chance for you to say goodbye. After all, he was your best friend."_

"_Jimmy, I'm going to say goodbye in my own way." I snapped, immediately regretting my harsh words. He took a step back,_

"_I'm sorry," I apologized, "I just—I can't." He nodded, came forward and kissed the top of my head,_

"_Let me know when you're ready to talk." He left me to the box. The deflated soccer ball mocked me, an old jacket laughed at me; I slammed the lid back on. I held it in my arms as I rode the elevator down and ran out into the courtyard. It was early enough on a Sunday that no one would notice. I dug the hole and placed the box inside. I muttered a couple of old prayers that Mom had taught me when I was little, _

"_I figured I should pray for redemption at some point!" she used to laugh, I had never understood the meaning. _

"_Goodbye Henry." I said, even-toned and with no remorse in my voice. I filled in the hole and ran, all the way up the stairs, all the way up into Jimmy's arms, _

"_You did it?" he asked._

"_I did." I smiled. Later that night, I sat up in bed, trying to shake off the fresh round of nightmares. Jimmy had woken with me, but I urged him to go back to sleep, he didn't need to lose anymore sleep than he already had. In a moment of weakness I ran downstairs and dug up the shallow grave. I ripped the top off the box, crying into his jacket, speaking without knowing what I was saying. _

"_You bastard!" I cried, "I still miss you!" I would never say goodbye._

***

I regret every day that I brought that box with me when we moved. I didn't tell Jimmy until after the move, that I had never really said goodbye. And now it seemed my daughter was delivering my punishment. I never wanted to see Henry's casket, I never wanted to see Henry's grave, and now I was getting the chance. Wahoo. Jimmy held my hand the whole way there, the clacks of everyone's shoes giving me something to concentrate on.

"Here they are." Madison said, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, looking at the trees.

HENRY J DUNN

JOHN C WAKEFIELD

I took a step closer and my knees buckled. I cried out everything, with everyone watching. My anger, my frustration, my grief, my love, until all I was doing was sobbing into the grass. I didn't even feel Trish's hand on my shoulder.

***

Mom was sobbing, heart wrenching sobs no child should ever hear from their parents. I looked at the motley crew assembled around me, Shea and Madison held each other, crying silent tears, my dad's eyes, red, and Carter standing stony-faced, rubbing Shea's shoulder in lieu of being able to empathize. I took a deep breath and stepped forward, putting one hand on Mom's shoulder, and reaching the other into my bag, revealing two flowers I had stolen out of Shea and Madison's garden. Two tulips, white. I placed one on each grave. Mom looked at me,

"Forgive and never forget. Right?" I knew by the way she smiled at me that I was right.


	11. Beginnings Come From Endings

_I was eighteen._

_I was packing my stuff into boxes, getting ready to go to college, when Mom walked in._

"_Trish?"_

"_Yeah Mom?" I loaded some more clothes into boxes, bobbing to the beat of the song blaring from the speakers. Then the music was gone, and Mom sat on the bed, patting the spot next to her. I obliged,_

"_When my Mom died she left me a necklace in her will, I've worn it almost everyday since then." She held said necklace in her hands, small, circular, it had little symbols on it, "You're going to college, and you'll be kinda far away," If Indiana University is that far away," And I want you to take it. To remind you of—of your Dad and I." She slipped it around my neck. I was awestruck, Mom had held onto that necklace for as long as I could remember, and now she's giving it to me? _

"_You're sure Mom?"_

"_Yes." _

I slid my fingers over the smooth wood of the casket. It was hard to think Mom was gone, but it was the truth. The wake was over, and the parlor was almost empty, except for Dad and me, I had told my husband Connor to take the kids home, they didn't need to stay and fidget any longer. I looked over at Dad, feeling so sorry for him; I don't think he had grasped the fact that Mom was gone. I felt a familiar hand on my shoulder,

"Hey Trish." Madison wore a bright blue skirt and white shirt, "In honor of Abby." She had said,

"Hi Madison." She took my hand for the umpteenth time that day,

"You know how much your mother loved, don't you. She helped me through some of my toughest nights at Hartgrove…. It was because of you that she was able to love again." I blinked back more tears,

"What?"

"You were the one who made her go back, showed her it was ok to forgive him." Madison didn't call Henry by name anymore.

"Where's she going?" Madison asked, referring to the cremation my mother had specifically ordered in her will,

"Part of her is going to the lake where we went fishing, another is staying with Dad for when he gets cremated, and the last part is going to Harper's Island." Madison's ever-blue eyes grew wide,

"Why?"

"She grew up there, it was home. The island is growing again people are coming back. Almost forty years is enough for anyone to forget a news story. And she'll be near her parents, friends who died on the island. Its just…its right."

"And Jimmy?"

"He'll come live with me. There's no way I'll put him in a nursing home. Ever. Besides, Chloe and Sully love their grandpa. What are you going to do?"

"Well, Mom's gone, and Carter and I were never really close. Remember the tragedy support group I go to?" I nodded; they had lit up Madison's life like nothing else in the years after Shea's sudden death.

"They're going on a trip around the world, to seek spiritual guidance, to see famous landmarks, I have enough money from Grandpa's will…" I smiled,

"Well, I'm glad you came to say goodbye. My mom would've been glad." Madison shook her head and smiled like she had when we were younger,

"Oh, I'm not saying goodbye. I'll see her again by tomorrow. Goodbye Trish. I'll write." She swooped me into another hug and before I could say another word, strolled out the door. I had known her for twenty-three years and she still surprised me when she said stuff like that. I looked over at Dad. I hated watching him age, he was still young and healthy, mentally, but he wasn't able to do everything he wanted to with his grandkids, he was even having a hard time fishing now a days. He sat in one of the funeral home's comfy chairs, clutching Mom's favorite necklace, which had been her Mom's before her's, just staring into space.

"Dad?" I snapped him out of his reverie, "Dad, let's go home."

"Do we have to?" He asked, looking again at the casket,

"Yes Dad. We can't stay here forever. C'mon." I took his hand and helped him up; he walked over to the casket for one last goodbye. His eyes were red and watery, as he whispered something underneath his breath. Then he took my hand,

"Trish, she died in peace, that's all we could have asked for," He kissed my forehead, "Thank you." I led him out of the funeral home. Things would get better tomorrow.

***

I smoothed my pretty blue skirt as I sat on the little bench outside the funeral home. The sun was setting behind some big trees. I loved nights like this. I closed my eyes as another gust of wind wove through my hair,

"Did you tell her?" I jumped, to my left in a relaxing repose sat Abby, young Abby, as I'd last seen her on Harper's Island,

"Abby, I didn't expect to see you so soon!"

"Its nice to see you too, Madison," she smiled, "But did you tell her?"

"Yes, I did. Don't worry." She breathed a sigh of relief,

"Thank you Madison." She got up and began to walk away,

"Wait!" I called, running up to her, "Are you and everyone else…still gonna be around?"

"Once and a while, maybe," My shoulders fell, and she took my hands, "Madison, I think the fact that you've lived with us so long, may have hurt you more than it helped you…we're sorry. But you need to live your life without us." My eyes welled up, I didn't want them to leave, they had been a crutch, a way for me to cope since I was nine. What was I going to do without them?

"I think you should go on that trip, you'll have so much fun, you'll forget about us." Forget about them? How was I going to forget about everything I had seen? She touched my cheek,

"You can do it Madison." And she was gone. I felt a sense of inspiration, of hope. I hopped onto my bike, my preferred mode of transportation, and rode off into the sunset, as cliché as that is. Beginnings come from endings. Everything would work.


End file.
